Movarth hissed at the dim light the burning candle had caused, motioning his thrall to put it out. In the newfound darkness that filled the room, he felt his senses heighten to a new extraordinary length and going as far as to feel the ground quake as a new intruder entered his lair. He was ready to take on the trespasser himself, but something stopped him. He smelled the air, focusing on this person alone.
They were of dead blood, long turned into a creature like Movarth himself. But… There was something about this person, so familiar and yet so vague. Like a long lost memory that was tucked away, lost in the mind of his human self.
As he busied his attention in discerning who this stranger was in his home, they had managed to peacefully pass by Movarth's thralls and followers and into his chamber. In the darkness, the name of the intruder was on the very tip of his tongue. Movarth could make out in the darkness two glowing golden orbs that burned passionately.
"It has been much too long, my friend," the stranger said with a thick Nordic accent, holding a cordial tone.
"I was unaware we had clashed before," Movarth admitted, relaxing back in his seat. "Please, refresh my memory."
The fellow vampire only chuckled in response to this, taking a few steps to seat himself just across from Movarth. "I did not think after all this time you would forget so easily of your closest friend," the stranger teased.
His face contorted to a mixture of both realization and disbelief, his falling slowly falling as he whispered the name that had escaped him for so long: "Durkof."
The previously unlit candle regained a new flame from an unseen hand, lighting up the room just enough for Movarth to confirm what he denied for so long. Durkof's face has aged, but not nearly as radical or terribly as the master vampire had. He was still relatively young looking and handsome, almost exactly as he had last remembered with the exception of the golden, supernatural eyes.
"I've spent so long looking for you," Movarth tried his hardest to keep his neutral tone in an attempt to hide any pained emotions, "One hundred and four letters. I wrote you one hundred and four letters asking you to come home. I wrote to you, every week for two years. Why did you never respond? Did you not receive them?"
Durkof's eyes lowered and gazed at the ground, feeling too guilty to continue looking at his old companion. "Aye, I did," he sighed, "I couldn't- I chose not to respond. I had to flee Cyrodiil while I still had a chance."
"A chance for what?" Movarth growled, slamming his fist down on the table. "In the last two hundred years you spent hiding yourself, you couldn't respond because you were afraid?"
"Please, my friend, do not be upset," Durkof calmly protested, "I was turned into this long before. I didn't want to put you or anyone in harm's way. I left in fear of being exploited for this… This-"
"Gift," Movarth finished his friend's sentence. "We have been gifted, my friend. What the mortals see as a curse we were granted to show them their errors. I too have long fought hard against vampirism, afraid that they had taken you captive. But all it takes…" He gave his old friend a wide, wolfish grin, "Is one small scratch."
Durkof felt disgusted with his friend and his new views of the world around them. It was now he had realized that the friend he once held so close to his heart was now gone forever. He was too late to help his friend, but not to help the world from whatever Movarth and any other vampire cult had in store. He stood from his seat, his friend tilting his head in a curious manner, "Leaving so soon? There are so many things we have yet to discuss…"
"I don't think I would like to hear any of your schemes. There has been enough talk of mysterious happenings going on in the little town just a way's back, don't think I am naive and can't see through you. I know it is you and the little lass you've been keeping on a leash."
Movarth spat in anger, standing up as well and slamming both hands on the table. "Is this what this little visit about? You came to play hero to those weak creatures? Do you think saving that little town will earn you some kind of trust and acceptance?" Durkof turned his head in the vampire's direction, baring his fangs as a warning, yet Movarth continued: "You didn't come to see me even after all the time I spent looking for you, no! You just wanted to play hero and escape the monstrosity that you are!" He grabbed Durkof by the shoulder and pulled him toward himself, so that the two stared into each other's burning, red eyes. "Because of you, I am this monster!"
Durkof's face was merely monotone, his eyes holding no anger or strife, not even a hint of a grievance. If anything, there was a melancholic air that now surrounded him. He took a deep breath, placing a hand on Movarth's shoulder, "My friend, you are no monster. You are but letting the monster inside consume you."
He slid his hand off, taking a few steps away from his former friend. Movarth's hand shook in rage at this, taking the table they had previously sat around and threw it against the wall. This had managed to catch Durkof's attention, grabbing the younger man by the throat and hissed, "Everything I did, I did for you!" He squeezed on his windpipe, his other hand wide open as he managed to barely lift him up, "But you... Time has changed you, made you weak! You are a coward!"
Durkof put his hands on top of the others in an attempt to pry him off, wheezing, "Look at yourself, Movarth! If I was truly weak as you say, would I be here? The infection- This disease nearly killed me when I was first contracted it. In the centuries I have spent hiding I have yet to taste the blood of a human, yet here I stand. I refused such because my master never taught me to harm a fellow brother! Am I the one time has really changed?"
Movarth, in a shift of conscience, dropped his friend from his deadly grasp. He looked down at his two pale hands, clenching them into fists out of anger towards himself. He turned his back on Durkof, hanging his head in his mental pit of shame. He felt a pain in his chest, one he had not experienced in the last couple centuries. "I just wish you told me you were fine," he whispered to his friend, "I could have hidden you, kept you safe from society's judgmental gaze. I could have fed you, make you nourished. We could have had a life together, one where we didn't need to harm others."
Durkof placed both hands on his fellow friend's shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze. "It is not too late, Movarth. We still have a chance. I can help you, turn this cult more into a family. We can learn to be peaceful. Please, just leave the city alone."
Movarth had considered this for a moment, taking it deep into account. The two knew this lifestyle was ideal for both of their wants and needs; Durkof would receive a home where he could finally be safe and Movarth would finally have his close friend back in his arms. But the humans- They were the true barrier in all of this. Everything Movarth had planned with Ava would be lost, the revenge he had spent so long for would be lost in the fabrics of time. He knew it was too late now, that the time for a peaceful life had passed by before either of them had realized it.
He couldn't pain himself with meeting his eyes. Now he was the one who stared painfully at the floor, his chest tightening. "No," he quietly answered, "It's too late. Far too late. I can't go back now, I'm sorry."
He listened hard to the silence that grew between them, but Durkof said nothing in return. Instead of words he heard footsteps take leave of their conversation and presence. Movarth grimaced with displeasure, turning back to watch his friend walk out of his life once more.
Durkof stopped at the exit, placing his hand against the hard rock. He gave him a disappoint look, shaking his head ever so slightly. They both took this last moment to memorize the last detail of each other's face, their eyes locked on each other to send one last mental message. Durkof let out a reluctant sigh, murmuring his last words: "Goodbye, my friend."
Movarth's body quickly drained of all previous feeling and pain, leaving him as numb as he was before the man he once knew walked back in his life. He let out a long roar, clenching his fists tightly. Morthal was now in danger, not so he could use the residents for cattle but for a new cause- To prove his point. And he was not going to go quietly.